


send me away with the words of a love song

by sheerpoetry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerpoetry/pseuds/sheerpoetry
Summary: Stiles wasn’t leaving Derek. He hadn’t left him in the school pool or the hospital elevator. Derek hadn’t left him in the nursing home or the sheriff’s station. It wasn’t what they did. Stiles certainly wasn’t leaving Derek now that he was...he just wasn’t.Derek's only thought upon waking isStiles.





	send me away with the words of a love song

**Author's Note:**

> _Not again_ was all Derek could think in that moment, when he heard Stiles scream and smelled the fresh blood.

_Not again_ was what Derek was thinking when he lunged at Ennis, sending them both over the edge.

_Not again_ Derek thought, as he fell through the empty air, too tired to fight the fall.

 

********

Stiles wasn’t leaving Derek. He hadn’t left him in the school pool or the hospital elevator. Derek hadn’t left him in the nursing home or the sheriff’s station. It wasn’t what they _did_. Stiles certainly wasn’t leaving Derek now that he was...he just _wasn’t_.

“Stiles, we need to go. You’re hurt.” Scott is trying to be the voice of reason. For once.

“I’m not leaving him.” His breath is coming quicker and it could be the gaping wound in his side or his brain trying to process that Derek is--his breath hitches on a sob.

Scott’s in his face, hand tight on his shoulder. “Stiles.” His voice is caught between concerned and firm.

“I’m not leaving him!”

Scott puts both hands up. “Okay. Okay. Just breathe, buddy.”

“I’m good.” Stiles finally manages to pull in a full breath, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his side. 

Scott hovers for a minute, silently communicating with Allison. He nods once. “Stay here with Allison. We’ll get him.”

Stiles manages to glare at his best friend. “I’m not a child.” Scott seems ready to reply, but Stiles cuts him off. “Go!”

When Scott and Isaac finally leave, he collapses against Allison, who’d been crouched behind him, keeping pressure on his wound. He pushes at Allison’s hand, begins to pull her bloodied fingers away.

“Stiles--” She tries to protest, but Stiles manages to peel her hands off.

His eyes widen when he sees the bite and the fresh gush of blood. “F _uck_. Okay, okay, okay.” He allows Allison to resume pressure.

She won’t quite meet his eyes, head ducked to her shoulder. Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Stiles hisses, as a fresh wave of pain hits him.

Allison had come to him that morning to tell him his idiot best friend was planning on doing something colossally stupid. She’d presented him a handgun and several clips of wolfsbane bullets, asking if he knew how to use it. He’d flipped off the safety and cocked it, drawing a bullet into the chamber. He switched the safety back on at Allison’s impressed look. “Sheriff’s kid,” he’d shrugged. They’d loaded up Allison's car and ended up here.

Scott returns and tries to pull Stiles to his feet. “Where’s--” Isaac appears, a tarp-wrapped bundle over his shoulder. Stiles hits the ground and winces. Scott reaches for Stiles again. “You’re not carrying me.”

Stiles settles for an arm slung over Scott’s shoulders as they slowly make their way outside. They find the pack waiting in the parking lot--bloody, but mostly intact. He’s suddenly glad for Derek’s dad car, imagining them trying to fit Derek in the backseat of the Camaro--or worse, the trunk. His laugh sounds a touch hysterical to his own ears. They’re all all staring at him when he manages to stop--looks ranging from concern (Scott and Allison) to confusion (Isaac and Boyd) to anger (Cora).

Isaac hovers between the cars. “Where do we--?”

Stiles is wavering on the edge of consciousness. “The loft.”

They all look to Scott, who only shrugs.

Stiles speaks up again. “We’re taking him _home_. Come on.”

There’d been a time he’d have never called the loft a “home.” But Derek had made an effort once Cora came back. He’d bought (secondhand, but still) furniture, dishes, a tv. He didn’t sneer at the knickknacks the pack brought over. Stiles was particularly proud of the needlework he’d picked up at a garage sale--a black wolf against a yellow moon. It’d sort of been a joke, but Derek had let him hang it. It’d still been there every time he’d been to the loft since.

Scott tries to lead him to Allison’s car, but Stiles stubbornly heads toward the Toyota. “Stiles--” Scott tugs on him gently.

“I can’t go home like this, Scott.” Stiles gestures to his ripped and bloody clothes. “It’s fine.” He peels Scott’s hands off him. “Let me go.”

Scott walks Stiles to the passenger door of the car. Climbing in isn’t the easiest task. Scott drains his pain for a quick moment as Stiles settles in the seat. He ignores the pitying look he’s getting through the window and closes his eyes. He resolutely keeps them closed as he hears the back door open and the rustle of the plastic tarp against the seats. He only opens them when he hears the click of the seatbelt as Cora gets behind the wheel.

He cracks an eye open. “You _can_ drive, right?” He probably should have thought to ask before now, but pressing matters at hand.

Cora shifts the SUV into drive and accelerates out of the parking lot. “Try not to bleed on the seats,” she adds quietly. “He hates that.”

 

********

Derek gasps back into consciousness before realizing he’s wrapped in...something. His claws are out and the material’s shredded before he can think to disentangle himself.

His only thought on waking is _Stiles_. He listens carefully, picking out the different heartbeats and scents in the loft. He’s not surprised to find it relatively empty. Derek moves through the loft, having apparently been left in the spare back room. He pauses at Cora’s door, listens for her steady breathing.

He finally finds Stiles curled up in his bed, the salty scent of tears still clinging to him in sleep. Derek inhales deeply and it’s _Stiles_ and there should be the copper tang of blood, but Stiles’s scent is somehow... _different_. Derek’s across the room before he realizes he thought to move.

Before he can think better of it, Derek’s climbed into bed with Stiles, wrapping himself around him. Stiles doesn’t immediately stir, only settles in against Derek, tucking his against Derek's chest. As Derek inhales Stiles’s changing scent, his heart breathes _this one_ \--his wolf recognizing what he’d been trying to ignore for a while. Derek is just  drifting off when Stiles jolts awake in his arms, illuminated by the light coming in through the wall of windows.

“Derek?!” Stiles’s eyes glow amber in the moonlight as he crushes Derek to him. “You’re--” He pushes Derek back and wrinkles his nose. “-- _disgusting_. Oh my _god_.” Derek hides a laugh in Stiles’s shoulder. “I mean...you’re _alive_.” Stiles hugs Derek again. “And also kind of gross.”

Derek doesn’t-- _can’t_ \--care. He can’t stop touching Stiles, won’t let him go. “ _You’re_ alive.”

He hadn’t expected to be here. He hadn’t expected _Stiles_ to be here. And he certainly hadn’t expected Stiles to be _here_ , in his bed. _With_ him. He manages to move away from Stiles enough to try to lift his shirt--which is actually  _his_ shirt, Derek notices, and damned if that doesn't do something to his heart--to check the bite.

Stiles bats his hands away. “Hurt like hell, but it’s just a bite, Derek.”

Derek sighs. “Stiles, you were bitten by an alpha werewolf, not a mosquito. Let me see.”

Stiles releases his wrist and Derek skirts a hand up Stiles’s side, feeling for the wound. Which is...non-existent. He runs his fingers over the unblemished skin of Stiles’s side in wonder. Stiles shivers at the touch and Derek feels goose bumps rise under his hand.

Stiles covers Derek’s hand with his own, shaking only slightly. “Is it bad?”

“It’s...gone.”

Stiles’s eyes are impossibly wide in the moonlight. “What.” It’s barely a whisper.

“Stiles--” Derek tries to pull Stiles back to him, but Stiles is out of the bed before he has a chance. Derek sits on the edge of the bed as Stiles starts to pace in front of him. He tries to catch him as he passes.

Stiles shakes him off. “No. This is not happening. This is _not_ happening. I didn’t want this. And it wasn’t even--” He slows as he runs out of steam and Derek is able to pull him close again, next to him on the mattress.

Derek tangles his fingers with Stiles’s and squeezes gently. “Wasn’t what?”

Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. “It wasn’t _you_.” Derek turns to kiss Stiles’s forehead, but Stiles catches him with a hand on his cheek, gaze flicking down to his lips before meeting his eyes. “It was always supposed to be you.”

Derek doesn’t take the time to parse the many layers of meaning in that statement. He can only lean in and kiss Stiles, pulling him into his lap. They finally break apart, breathing heavily into each other’s space.

Stiles manages a breathless laugh. “You really need a shower.”

Derek smiles, feels something slot into place in his chest. He kisses Stiles once more, briefly. “Only if you join me.”


End file.
